


The Convention AU

by Bouzingo



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Depression, Love at First Sight, M/M, Writer Sam Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouzingo/pseuds/Bouzingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam and Steve meet at a panel at a comic convention, it's pretty much love at first sight. For kissingcullens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Convention AU

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kissingcullens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissingcullens/gifts).



“I can’t believe you’ve never met this guy,” Natasha says, “He’s like your kind of guy! My kind of guy! The best guy.”

“I think I’d have had an easier time meeting him if he didn’t keep cancelling appearances, Nat,” Sam says, trying to keep up with his fellow writer’s pace. “You know how many conventions Steve Rogers said he’d show for, but couldn’t?”

It’s the third convention of the season, and the second panel in said convention. Sam feels like he’s been running a marathon since the start of May, and while he loves interacting with the people who make his work possible, sometimes he likes staying home and writing too.

“Well, he’s always working. Or sick. Or both,” Natasha shrugs, and brightens as she sees someone. “Hey Rogers! Speak of the devil. I was starting to think you got lost.”

“On your left,” a furious, tiny presence who’s finally hurried to Sam’s side says. “I _did_ get lost, Natasha, nobody told me there’re special routes for guests.”

“You’re hilarious,” Natasha says. “Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers by the way.”

“Good to finally meet you,” Sam says. They’ve finally arrived at the correct room. “And only a little bit before we have to do a panel together!”

“Weird how that keeps on happening,” Steve says. He sounds a little out of breath, and stops outside the door while he digs an inhaler out of his bomber jacket. Sam finally gets a good look at him. Blond and kind of scrawny, he couldn’t be more than ninety pounds soaking wet. He dresses like an extra in a Hozier video and his glasses are thick black rims, just like Sam’s.

Sam wants to put Steve Rogers in his pocket and take him home.

“Gentlemen!” Natasha says, “We’re on time. Let’s keep it that way.”

They shuffle into the room and sit at the table up front, while Natasha takes the microphone. The room’s about half-full, which, for niche creators like Sam and Steve, is pretty much standard.

“Our first guest, of course, is Steve Rogers,” Natasha says. “You guys know him from his excellent work on the _Redjackets_ Omnibus, which I hold close to my heart, and his ongoing webcomic, _Marcilla_ , which of course just got picked up by Image Comics.”

There’s a lot of applause for this, not least of all for the mention of the omnibus of Natasha’s series _Redjackets_. And it was just announced the other day that _Marcilla,_ a plot-light but crazy-awesome art-heavy webcomic about lesbian vampires who run a little coffeeshop in Brooklyn, would get a limited run with the company. Sam’s a huge fan. Sam might have a shirt from a vendor at the Artist’s Alley.

“And, my very dear friend Sam Wilson,” Natasha continues. “Who hasn’t watched _Aviators?_ Who doesn’t wish that FOX would have aired the episodes in order? And maybe not on a Friday night?”

There’s mixed applause and laughter, among it Steve’s. Sam’s a little flummoxed about how such a deep resonant sound can come out of a tiny little body like that.

“So here’s how this works,” Natasha says once the audience is more or less attentive again. “I’m going to ask some questions which I’ve selected from the online discussion about the panel, then I’ll open to the floor.”

Natasha has been arranging and modding the Queer Creators in Speculative Fiction for years now, and she’s gotten really good at it. The questions that she’s picked are awesome, thought-provoking, and they get through the questions with tons of time to spare for convention-goers who are present. There aren’t as many questions about _Aviators_ this time, but they far eclipse the questions that Steve gets about anything really.

By the end of the ninety minute panel, Sam’s feeling kind of bad. He turns to Steve with an abashed smile.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “Everywhere I go I get like twenty questions about that show.”

“It’s no big deal,” Steve says. “I’m really bad at panels anyway. I don’t know why I keep getting invited to them.”

“Because Natasha keeps hosting them?” Sam suggests. Steve laughs.

“What are you doing after this?” he asks. “I was just going to get a coffee and go back to my hotel room.”

“Coffee sounds great,” Sam says, and feels something small ignite in him, like aesthetic appreciation but a little deeper.

Steve orders coffee black, no room for cream. Sam doesn’t know what he expected, and feels a little silly ordering a green tea frap with a mint shot and caramel drizzle.

“Fancy,” Steve says, eyebrow crooking neatly at the drink.

“I don’t like paying for anything I can make at home,” Sam says. “The fancier the better.”

“Fair enough,” Steve shrugs, and they sit by the window. Sam pulls out his notebook on reflex just as Steve pulls out his sketchpad.

“What are you working on?” Sam asks.

“ _Redjackets_ cover,” Steve says. “Natasha asked me if I could, and I said yes against my better judgment.”

“Well, after your work on the omnibus, she’d have been remiss not to ask you,” Sam says. “That was great work. What issue?”

“Issue 25,” Steve says. “A little ways from now.”

“I think Natasha might be scheming,” Sam says. “She asked me to write Issue 25.”

He holds up his notebook, which is flipped to a blank page that says only ‘Issue 25 ideas.’

“Like the gift of the Magi,” Steve says. “I guess we’ll be working together a lot then, won’t we?”

“I guess,” Sam says. He doesn’t know whether he wants to chew Natasha out or thank her.

“I have to admit, I like the idea of seeing you more,” Steve says, blushing blotchily, and stares down at his sketchbook. “If that’s not weird.”

“Would it be weird if I felt the same way?” Sam asks. Steve turns a deeper shade of red and smiles.

* * *

 

They start booking hotel rooms for conventions together after a couple of dates, and convention season suddenly gets a whole lot better. Sam gets used to Steve curled up in a shared bed when he comes back from a day of back to back panels and meet and greets, gets used to nights in with room service and sketching and writing in amicable silence.

“I love you,” Steve murmurs one night in July. It’s his birthday, and they’re at a convention in Toronto, far away from Independence Day fireworks. Their bellies are full on Korean barbeque and they’re a little tipsy, but Steve means it. He’s blushing blotchy again and Sam can feel his own cheeks warm.

“I love you too,” he says, and tucks Steve’s head under his, “Shorty.”

“Aw, fuck you,” Steve says. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”

At the hotel, they get up to their usual tricks. Steve gasping because of Sam’s mouth, then reciprocating with an adoring glance up that nearly makes Sam come all by itself.

“We should cancel all our appearances,” Steve says after, tracing lazy circles on Sam’s chest.

“That would piss so many people off, are you kidding,” Sam laughs. Steve sighs.

“I guess you’re right,” he says.

“We could cancel for tomorrow,” Sam says. “Start work on a collaboration.”

“Is that what we’d tell ‘em?” Steve says with a grin.

“Well, yes,” Sam says. “But I _was_ thinking about collaborating. I mean, I’ve had this script on my laptop for ages now, and I was just looking for the right artist. You’re the right artist.”

Steve’s face breaks into a bright smile, and he kisses Sam.

“I can’t wait,” he says. “Thank you.”

Sam cancels nearly everything the next day, except for the panel that he and Steve have with Natasha. Natasha crooks an eyebrow when they show up late, holding hands and wearing identical smiles.

“I guess I’m to blame for the missed panels and the aggressively codependent Instagramming,” she says, holding up her phone, which is on Steve’s Instagram. “I have a very nice Issue 25, though. At least there’s that.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Sam says, kissing Steve on the cheek. “Should we get started? I haven’t been asked about _Aviators_ in a while.”

“I don’t think that’s what they’ll be asking about,” Natasha says, and allows herself a small smile before they all go in.

* * *

 

 _Why does this happen?_ , Sam wonders to himself while he lies in bed on his side, staring at the wall. He hasn’t showered in a few days and he’s sure he’s starting to smell, but he can’t bring himself to care. On his bedside table, his phone buzzes now and again; coworkers, Natasha, his mother, _Steve._

“They’re worried for you, you piece of shit,” he mumbles to himself, but still can’t quite reach his phone. He rolls back into bed, facing the wall, and drifts back to sleep.

When he wakes up, he smells cookies. That’s alarming, because he’s very sure he didn’t get up to make them. What’s even more alarming is the familiar weight of Steve’s arm across his waist, his face buried in his shoulder.

“Steve?” he says cautiously.

“Your neighbour let me in,” Steve mumbles, and laughs a little, hot breath in bursts on Sam’s shoulder. “I probably looked like a lost puppy out there. Mrs. Benesch was nice.”

“She’s a nice lady,” Sam concedes, and rolls over. “Look, Steve… I’m not really fit for human consumption right now? I’m just really… tired.”

“I can go,” Steve says immediately. “I just wanted to check on you, and make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam says, hates the way his voice catches just as he finishes talking, and he reaches for Steve as he gets up, to leave. “You made cookies?”

Steve smiles.

“From cake mix, and I absconded with some of your eggs,” he says. “I’m not a big baker. That’s my friend with the arm that I told you about.”

Sam nods, and manages to sit up.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Do you want me to go?” Steve asks, falling back on his knees on the bed. Sam nods, looking down in shame. Steve’s touch on his face centers him a little. “That’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispers; if he spoke any louder his voice would break again, and he’d start crying.

“Don’t be,” Steve smiles. “I’m here for you. Or… not here for you. Text me, okay? Take your meds?”

“Okay,” Sam says. Steve leaves a plate of cookies out for him before he goes. Five minutes after he’s gone, Sam reaches for his phone and checks his messages. It’s a start.

* * *

 

“Hey,” Steve says with a small smile on their next date. It’s a little coffee place in Brooklyn that was clearly the inspiration for _Marcilla,_ and he has a coffee bigger than he is set out in front of him. “How you feeling, stranger?”

“Better,” Sam says, and reaches for Steve’s hand. It’s callused and bony, and Sam’s missed these hands. “Thanks for the cookies. Thanks.”

“We all have rough days,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Sam says, and looks down at the table. “I guess I just get rough weeks.”

Steve rubs the back of Sam’s hand and Sam feels a bit better.

“Have you tried the peach cobbler?” he asks, pushing his dessert over to Sam. Sam takes a forkful, and finds it’s delicious. “Finish it. I can’t have too much with my gluten thing, but they always load my plate with it and I always eat it all.”

“It is really good,” Sam admits, finds himself pulling out his notebook. A glimmer of a story is in the front of his mind, and he wants to get it down before he forgets. “Thanks for getting me out of the house.”

“I love you,” Steve says simply. “Come to mine? After my work?”

Sam smiles, and leans over to kiss Steve.

“I look forward to it,” he says.


End file.
